


Snow

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Giriko hates being cold and usually protests Justin’s continuing attempts to steal his body heat in the winter, but this time he just grins and drops one blessedly warm arm around the blond’s shoulders." Giriko warms Justin up, and then things go a little farther than either of them expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

Justin isn’t the type to complain about where Lord Death decides to assign his Death Weapons. And usually he doesn’t have anything to complain about. He likes Europe, generally. He likes how easy it is to travel from one country to another, and he likes the reputation he has built in spite of his age, and he likes the mountains he can see from the window of his house in Switzerland. Giriko likes it too; he seems calmer in Europe than in the U.S., as if being closer to his original home has helped to soothe some of his learned insanity over his years alive. Justin even likes the snow, usually; he likes how quiet the world becomes, how smooth and white and peaceful the ground looks first thing in the morning.

But just at the moment, Justin is  _freezing_ , and any aesthetic appreciation of the weather is going to have to wait until he can feel his feet again. He’s been struggling to warm up all day; getting out of bed was a mistake, he sees that now, but a warm shower helped for a while, and he’s been drinking hot tea for hours now, and that was enough for the morning. But he’s been sitting still at the table without realizing that the heat is leeching from his hands and feet until he realized his handwriting was going sloppy with how numb his fingers have become. Blankets won’t be enough, now, not when he’s so cold he feels like he’s radiating chill instead of warmth, and he doesn’t want another shower, so he pushes up from the table and shivers out into the living room in search of a better source of heat.

He finds one right away, of course. Giriko has made it out of bed -- he doesn’t always, on snowy days -- and he’s reading a magazine on the couch, apparently too unwilling to climb out from under the cocoon of blankets he’s made to turn on the television. But his cheeks are faintly pink under the tan of his skin and he looks comfortable enough, and when Justin shuffles around the corner and the chainsaw looks up the older man doesn’t even snap at him.

“You look like you’re freezing,” he observes, dropping the magazine and moving to sit up on the couch. He takes all the blankets with him but he looks  _warm_ , so Justin just nods in agreement and settles into the couch as close to the chainsaw as he can manage. Giriko doesn’t complain, even when Justin pulls the corner of the blankets out and around himself, even when the priest tucks his head in against the other’s shoulder and wraps his shaking arms around the chainsaw’s waist. He must be  _really_  comfortable; Giriko hates being cold and usually protests Justin’s continuing attempts to steal his body heat in the winter, but this time he just grins and drops one blessedly warm arm around the blond’s shoulders.

“You wouldn’t have this problem if you filled out a little more,” he points out into Justin’s hair. “It’s cause you’re so skinny that you’re always so cold.”

“I’m not always cold,” Justin protests without lifting his head. “I am cold  _right now_ , that’s not the same thing.”

“Sure it’s not.” Giriko reaches around to grab at Justin’s hip with his free arm and pull the priest bodily into his lap. Justin lets him -- he’s not about to argue with the increase of warmth -- and even though Giriko hisses when the blond’s bare feet touch his leg he doesn’t push the other off him.

Giriko doesn’t cuddle. He is very insistent on this point, and just at the moment Justin doesn’t feel like picking a fight by pushing that particular button. But he  _does_  wrap his arms around Justin’s waist and pull the blond in close against him, and he lets Justin breathe in against his neck until the priest feels like the blood in his veins might be flowing again the way it’s supposed to. Even after Justin’s stopped shivering, minutes after his breathing has steadied, the chainsaw just keeps him where he is, doesn’t protest or move or even voice a token resistance.

Which means that Justin is not  _particularly_  surprised when Giriko shifts his weight and there’s a brush of contact against the side of his neck. It’s not quite a kiss, more the catch of teeth on Justin’s skin and the damp of lips dragging over his neck, but Justin is warm and comfortable and now that he has returned to comfort he can consider facets beyond just not-freezing.

“Taking payment for the use of your body heat?” Justin asks, but even as he speaks he’s angling his head so the chainsaw can press in closer. Giriko takes the silent offer, licks against the blond’s collarbone, and Justin can feel him smile before he speaks.

“Nah, I’m just thinking of you.” The chainsaw’s putting on a ridiculous voice dripping with sacchrine concern. “Trying to think of other ways to warm you up.”

“Ah, I see.” Justin leans in closer, digs his fingers into Giriko’s hair and pushes up, the way that always earns him a purr from the other man. This is no exception; Giriko’s hands at his hips pull him in as if that will successfully bring him any closer than he already is, the sound of satisfaction from Giriko’s throat shivers through Justin’s skin. “I should have known your mind would immediately go to sex.”

“Maybe I wasn’t thinking about sex,” Giriko points out. “I never said anything about it, did I?”

Justin rolls his eyes, but Giriko can’t see him so he lets the sarcasm bleed over into his tone. “Yes, absolutely, my mistake. You  _never_ think about sex.”

“Shut up.” The words lack any force; even when Giriko nips at Justin’s neck the bite lacks the aggression to do any real damage beyond a flash of pain and a few pinpricks of blood under the sharp edge of his teeth. “I can stop.”  
“ _Sure_  you can,” Justin taunts, and then quick, because he really doesn’t  _want_  Giriko to stop just to prove a point, “No, don’t, please keep going.”

“You gonna beg me for it?” Giriko asks. His hands catch at the bottom of Justin’s shirt, push it up so he can dig his fingers in against bare skin. The blankets up around their shoulders are sliding down, but the room feels a lot warmer now than it did a few minutes ago, and even the motion of fabric over his skin doesn’t make Justin shiver, or at least not from cold.

“I have a better idea.” Justin shifts his weight so he’s turning in to face the chainsaw, swings one leg around until he’s straddling the older man. Giriko really  _is_  warm under Justin’s hands and between his legs, and turned around Justin can see the heat under the grin the other is giving him too. “Any complaints?”

He knows Giriko won’t have any, but the chainsaw still makes a point of raising his eyebrows and offering a slow shake of his head as if he’s thinking through the situation. “Y’know, I really don’t.”

“Good.” Justin leans in, turning his head like he’s angling for a kiss, and Giriko shifts in instinctive response to echo him...and the priest keeps going, moves up and away so he’s scrambling up over the back of the couch before the chainsaw has had any chance to realize process the shift.

“Hey,” Giriko protests, then louder, “ _Hey_ , what the  _fuck_  Justin!”

“I need to get the lube,” Justin points out as he moves down the hallway. “Just stay there and wait for me like a good boy.”

There’s a hiss from behind him, audible even at a distance; it makes Justin smile, but he is still uncomfortably chilled without Giriko to warm him, so rather than teasing the other with unnecessary delay he goes straight to the bedroom and back. Even with his alacrity he’s starting to shiver again by the time he makes it back to the living room, and apparently Giriko has had more than enough time to himself; he’s got his shirt off, for one thing, and while his pants are still on he has them open so he’s idly stroking over his length when Justin climbs back over the back of the couch.

“It was maybe a minute at most,” Justin sighs as Giriko lets himself go in favor of replacing his hold on the blond’s hips. “You couldn’t wait even that long?”

“‘M not known for my patience,” Giriko growls. His mouth is wet on Justin’s shirt, the damp making the priest’s clothes stick and catch on his skin. “Besides, you really complaining?” He pulls the other in closer, thrusts his hips up so his cock digs in against the front of Justin’s jeans, and the blond chokes out a sound that is part disbelief and part amusement.

“You’re awful,” he points out, but he’s rocking forward in response to the chainsaw’s movements anyway, and the word comes out soft like an endearment rather than an insult. “Besides, aren’t you cold without a shirt?”

“Some of us  _real_  men are able to handle a little cold,” Giriko declares. Justin refrains from pointing out that it was the chainsaw who stripped all the blankets off the bed to form a nest on the couch, that in fact there have been days Giriko never left the bedroom because it was ‘too damn cold.’ “Seemed like you could use some skin-to-skin contact, anyway.”

That is definitely a major reason Justin’s not complaining. He can see the way Giriko’s shoulders flex when the chainsaw pulls him closer, can see the flush of warmth all under the other man’s darker skin, and when he sets his hands flat against Giriko’s chest and shoulder the chainsaw shudders but doesn’t protest the cold or the contact.

“Yeah,” Justin says. “Yeah, I could.”

Giriko bumps his head in against Justin’s collarbone, licks against the blond’s shirt instead of his skin. “Well I dunno what you’re waiting for. D’you want an  _invitation_  to strip?”

It’s not in invitation that Justin is waiting for as much as that the air is still unpleasantly cold, that the idea of losing what insulation he has is in an evenly matched war with the desire to get as close to Giriko’s skin as he can manage. But the chainsaw’s needling does fire his irritation, and that’s enough for him to push the chainsaw away and back to the couch before climbing off the other man.

“We’re not  _all_  unable to control ourselves,” he offers in retaliation for Giriko’s earlier comment, but he’s pulling his shirt up over his head even as he speaks. When he emerges Giriko isn’t glaring or hissing; the chainsaw’s just watching him, grinning so his mouth curves up sideways to show a flash of teeth as he lets his gaze drop ostentatiously to the priest’s bare skin.

“I’m controlling myself,” he points out as Justin starts on his pants. “Look, here I am over here and not helping unwrap you like a present to me.”

“That’s just because you like watching me,” Justin retorts.

Giriko shrugs, reaches down with one hand to wrap his fingers around himself again. The motion draws Justin’s eyes more than it should and in spite of the priest’s best efforts to keep his gaze on the chainsaw’s face.

“I do,” Giriko agrees without rancor. “But you like watching me too.” Justin can’t deny that, not when he can’t manage to look up at Giriko’s expression for the appeal of watching the chainsaw’s fingers stroke over his cock. “Hurry up, I like fucking you more than I like jerking myself off.”

At least they agree on that point. Justin strips off his pants without even thinking about it, without even noticing the chill of the air across his exposed skin. Giriko makes a sound of appreciation, a purring hum in the back of his throat, and when Justin comes back in he lets go of himself in favor of digging his fingers into the other’s waist.

“D’you want me to finger-fuck you?” Giriko asks. His lips are tracing over the line of collarbone under Justin’s skin, leaving heat and a rising flush in their wake. “Or are you gonna?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the way into my heart,” Justin deadpans as he grabs the bottle he dropped on the couch and slicks his fingers. “You know how much I love it when you sweettalk me.” The angle is a little harder for himself than it would be for Giriko, but he has enough experience at this point that it’s not too much of a challenge to get his hand where it needs to be. Giriko is licking a trail down the middle of his chest, now, and for a minute Justin thinks the chainsaw won’t rise to his needling. He’s just starting to relax into the pressure of two fingers when the other man speaks without lifting his head.

“You want me to sweettalk you?” There’s the edge of a laugh under his voice. “We’re been over this, kid, I’m not the  _type_.” It’s been a long time since Giriko called him that; months, although Justin hadn’t noticed the absence until its return. It’s strangely comforting, nostalgia wiping out any trace of irritation the appellation would have once carried. “Probably should have found yourself a different fuckbuddy, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Don’t worry.” Justin manages to keep his voice level even as his skin prickles with anticipation and he slides his hand free. “It’s not my thing, either.” He replaces Giriko’s hold on the chainsaw’s own cock with his still-slippery fingers, strokes over the chainsaw’s length once to grant himself the necessary lubrication before he reaches out to steady himself on Giriko’s shoulder and move in closer. One of Giriko’s hands comes down to brace against Justin’s thigh as the blond comes forward; it’s hard for the blond to tell what he’s doing but the chainsaw’s hands shift him sideways an inch, forward two, and then the head of his cock settles against Justin’s entrance.

Giriko hums, scrapes his teeth over Justin’s skin; the hand at the blond’s waist moves, lets him go in favor of curling into a grip around the priest’s length. Justin hisses encouragement, takes a quick breath, and starts to lower himself down onto Giriko’s cock while the chainsaw offers irregular friction in the motion of his hand. Justin knows how to handle this, by now, knows how fast he can go and what angle to shift to to get Giriko to flinch and gasp and groan; heat surges under his skin, a wave of warmth flushing his skin pink even in the winter-cool air, and Giriko’s mouth is open and his eyes are out-of-focus on Justin’s face.

“You look like you’ve never fucked me before,” Justin says. His composure is starting to fray away -- his voice is certainly less steady than it was to start -- but he still manages to get a sharp grin from the chainsaw, a short jerk of the other’s hips up into him so his breath gusts out in a whimper even before Giriko tightens his hold on the blond’s cock.

“I just never get tired of watching you,” Giriko growls. His voice is so rough that it takes Justin a minute to identify the meaning of the words themselves, and the blond is blinking down in rising shock at the chainsaw when the hand at his hip pulls him down and Giriko leans in close, presses his mouth in against Justin’s hair so the blond can’t see his face.

“Don’t stop moving,” he orders, and Justin resumes his motion as best he can from the odd angle. He can only bring himself up an inch or two before dropping back down, but he’s rocking forward with the movement too, he can feel the push of Giriko’s cock against him more from his forward movement than the actual thrusting he’s achieving. The chainsaw’s hand is still working over him, slow and careful instead of fast and rough like Giriko usually prefers; it’s enough to crease Justin’s brow in confusion even before Giriko starts speaking. Then there’s a whisper of words into his ear, so faint Justin can barely make them out, and the meaning of  _those_  shatters all his expectations.

“You’re gorgeous.” Justin starts to pull back at that, lean away so he can see Giriko’s face, but the hand at his hip turns into a bruising hold. “ _Don’t_  stop, what did I just say?”

“Don’t stop,” Justin blurts back.

“Yeah. So  _don’t_ , or I stop talking.”

Justin hesitates, and swallows, and steadies himself. Then he braces his hands on Giriko’s shoulders, and shifts his weight so he’s balanced over his knees, and starts moving again, slow and carefully so he can maintain his rhythm while still listening to the chainsaw’s words.

The other man starts talking again as soon as the blond moves, like the words are being pulled out of him by the friction of Justin as the priest moves around him. “You’re gorgeous, you’re beautiful and dangerous and such a little  _bitch_ ,  _fuck_  you’re wonderful. I didn’t think there was anything in the whole damn world worth living for and then I saw you, and  _that_  was bad enough, and then you  _adopted_  me and I was totally fucked.” There’s a laugh, warm and purring against Justin’s ear. “And I hate you sometimes, sometimes I want to break your damn gorgeous face just cause it  _exists_  and maybe I’d care less if you weren’t so  _pretty_.”

Giriko’s shoulders shift under Justin’s hands as the chainsaw comes forward, changing the angle of his hips so Justin chokes and shudders through a wave of almost-too-much sensation up his spine. Giriko stops while Justin catches his breath; then Justin takes an inhale, leans in close, and when he moves again he can feel the faint sweat of exertion catching his skin on Giriko’s as they move, and Giriko starts talking again.

“I hate you less and less, now. Fuck, I think I might love you, and if you  _ever_  say anything about this to me I  _will_  break your face, understand?” Justin can’t breathe at all, but that’s okay, Giriko’s hand is working faster over him, the chainsaw’s thumb digging in against the head of his cock and the chainsaw’s length pressing into him as he moves, and there doesn’t seem to be much to protest just at the moment. He nods instead, frantic and rushed, and Giriko growls. “And I do, I fucking do and that scares the fucking shit out of me cause I ain’t supposed to  _ever_  care this much about  _anyone_ , it’s not my  _thing_.”

The hand at Justin’s hip loosens, slides up in a caress over the blond’s side. Justin isn’t breathing, or not regularly at least; it doesn’t matter, he can feel Giriko shaking in anticipation against him too, and when the chainsaw turns his head Justin can feel his lips moving as he speaks, an almost-there kiss to match the words. “It wasn’t supposed to be you. I wasn’t supposed to goddamn imprint on some pretentious kid priest with a stick up his ass and an ego the size of a fucking country.”

“ _Supposed_  to?” Justin says, or means to say, What he does do, instead of speaking, is whine a half-laugh that sticks in the back of his throat, right up against the tight winding anticipation in his blood.

Giriko laughs into Justin’s shoulder. The fingers at his side come around to his spine, fit in against the vertebrae at the small of his back, and Justin is just catching a sharp breath as pleasure sweeps towards him when Giriko’s voice rumbles against him, more felt than heard, “ _Come_  for me, Justin.”

It’s too late to hold himself back, even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to. Justin arches his back under Giriko’s unwontedly gentle touch, and his thoughts spark with Giriko’s unwontedly affectionate words, and he’s coming, gasping and moaning through his orgasm so he doesn’t even realize he’s stopped moving.

Even then, Giriko is unusually patient; Justin is still shaking with pleasure, but the chainsaw waits until the blond’s taken a proper breath before he demands, “C’mon, Justin,  _don’t_  stop,” and the plea and the raw edge in his voice both bring Justin’s movements back almost before the blond realizes he’s bringing himself up.

Giriko is closer than Justin thought; the chainsaw usually doesn’t maintain this much coherency up at the end, but his head hits the blond’s shoulder and he starts gasping almost as soon as the priest starts moving again. The hand at Justin’s spine shifts slightly, stroking rather than scratching, and Justin takes a sharp inhale and blurts, “I love you too,” just as the chainsaw’s shoulders knot tight with his own orgasm. Giriko grunts into his shoulder, his teeth catching and drawing another prickle of blood, but Justin is smiling out past the other man’s head and couldn’t rein in the warm delight in his veins if he wanted.

There is a moment of overheated silence after, before Justin has moved away and before Giriko has recovered enough to pull his hand or his mouth away. Then Giriko lifts his mouth, and Justin takes a breath and waits for the explosion.

“You gonna insist on cleaning up?”

That...was not the explosion he was expecting. When Justin looks down Giriko’s looking up at him; he looks a little breathless and a little disheveled, but much less seething than the blond expected.

Justin can handle that, too, if they’re going to totally ignore what they both just said. “That depends.” He shifts his weight to come up off Giriko’s length but leans forward to resettle himself over the chainsaw’s hips. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah.” Giriko wraps both arms around Justin’s waist and lets himself drop sideways; caught in the motion Justin doesn’t have many options but to go with him down onto the couch. “Stay here for a while and I’ll come with you later.”

“I am covered in sweat and come,” Justin points out with perfect equanimity. “A shower sounds excellent right now.”

“You’re not cold anymore, though, are you?” Giriko asks. Justin smiles, and laughs against Giriko’s shoulder, and lets himself relax in the chainsaw’s hold. He can’t argue the point, after all.


End file.
